Meetings
by Apocalypsefantasy
Summary: The Flock didn't always have each other. There was a time when they were all just scared little mutants in crates, alone. Yet their lives didn't really begin until they had each other. This is that beginning. Pre-series


AN/: I recently reread the Max Ride series in honor of the final addition (and finally getting around to reading the damn thing) and couldn't help thinking about how they all met in the School this is the result of that curiosity.

Disclaimer: All rights to James Patterson, fly on.

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FANG

Words to Remember

It's weird you know, how when you lose someone you remember every detail about them that much more. Despite that fact you couldn't remember half that stuff a week ago to save your life. Okay so maybe it's not that weird, but it still sucks. I wanted to forget, it hurt too much to remember but still my teenage genetically enhanced bird-kid mind kept thinking back to him and how we met in that hell hole, and everything since. In a way I wanted to be able to say to his face when he came back,( because at that point I was sure he'd be back), that I hadn't even thought about him the whole time he'd been gone. See how he liked being forgotten. So far it was not working, at all.

Nope I kept having stupid, scary flashbacks to the school and the flock in cages. Vaguely I considered getting a dog crate just so I could vent some of my anger on it. I figured that would really freak the rest of the flock out, so I decided I'd better not. Fang had been my right-wing-man for as long as I can remember. He might as well have been my right wing. Before Fang and the rest of the flock came I really didn't have any concrete memories, just pain, whitecoats and more pain, loneliness fear, yep plenty of that. It still makes me shiver just thinking about it. I was maybe three, if that when I met Fang, granted we didn't call him Fang back then and I wasn't Max either. They (the whitecoats) had stuffed a struggling Fang, who even then could curse like sailor, into the crate beside mine. I remembered how shocked I was at how normal he looked(besides the dirt and blood, which I thought was normal, having never seen anything else), not like any of the other mutants I'd seen die horribly, I'd wondered what they'd done to him. That is until he turned his back to me to and I saw the wings. My eyes probably bugged out of their sockets.

One of the whitecoats turned to face another and commented on the new arrival "That one might be as much trouble as subject one." I tensed, anytime someone said subject one I tended to be dragged out kicking and screaming to some new form of torture. Even then I was glad to say I never made it easy for them, to be honest I made sure I was pain in the ass.

After I was sure the mad scientists (mad as in crazy not mad as in angry) were well out of earshot, I tried talking to this stranger who had wings. Since the only time I ever talked was to yell at the whitecoats, my voice sounded odd, hoarse from disuse, not to mention screaming. "You've got wings." He looked at me as if just realizing I was there and gave me a 'no duh' look, one that I'd quickly become familiar with, "me too." He raised one eyebrow completely floored. I remembered thinking he was emotionally impaired, totally understandable, growing up in a cage. Turning slightly I extended my baby wings, coated with dirt and grime, as much as my dog crate allowed.

He looked as shocked as I would ever see him. Eyes not wide but intensely alert and surprised as they roved over my ruffled feathers. I had the feeling that if the crates had allowed it he might have tried to touch them. After that it was quiet for a while, well as quiet as a lab of mad scientists can be. Fang didn't talk much, well actually he didn't talk. Like at all. Period. Not that I minded I wasn't really the greatest conversationalist back then, surprising since I'm so amazing at it now. As if. After Fang's appearance the whitecoats didn't visit us as much for the next few weeks, mostly just routine injections and meals, still creepy and way too many needles, but compared to the usual experiments it was bird-kid paradise.

Fang and I passed the time by inventing games we could play through the cage bars. Stupid things like, whose wings are bigger, or who can stretch furthest past the bars, starring contest (Fang always won those), and when we were feeling daring, who could annoy the whitecoat assistant most. Usually though we just sat in silence. Knowing we weren't the only ones in that silence, was a greater comfort than I can ever admit, and probably the best thing the whitecoats ever did for us.

Those weeks are the earliest memories I have of being anything even remotely close to happy. Unfortunately the damn whitecoats decided to come mess it up. We're just minding our own crates and having a face making contest when two of them come in. The sight of Jeb makes my blood run cold, but I practically freezes solid in my veins my bird-kid hearing picks up the feint mutterings of "subject one".

I snarl. Pushing myself back against the crate wall and prepping for a fight. Jeb sighs and motions in a couple of extra whitecoats. One unlocks my cage and opens the door wide, another reaches in to grab me. I struggle, scratching and tearing and lashing out at anything I can. My movements were wild and untrained, sloppy, easily avoidable. I feel a sharp familiar prick in my neck and things start to go hazy.

The last thing I see before the sedative took affect was Fang staring at me through the crate bars, an unfathomable look in his eye. At the time I thought it was fear. Now I know it was concern.

After the pain has passed. Dulled to a bone deep ache, I see Fang. He's staring again. Willing me awake maybe. I muster up a smirk for him. "Got enough holes in me without you trying to glare out some more."

His face softens and he stops with that annoying look of his, apparently satisfied I'm not about to expire. Little body aching I curl up in a ball in the back corner of my crate, the closest to him and furthest from the whitecoats. He reaches out a wing towards me. It barely passes the bars but I get the gesture. Ignoring the pain I reach my right wing for him. Another inch or so and they would brush, as it is we're only able to stare at each other. That was our first moment of complete understanding.

The next morning they come for us both. Jeb instructing a group of at least eight whitecoats to collect us. They drag me out first. Then go for Fang. He surprises me, rather than shrink away from them, he charges. Snarling at them he tackles the one reaching for him. The guy stumbles. Then he's next to me pounding at the guys restraining me.

I'm so shocked I stop struggling. He snaps up to glare at me. "I got your back" His voice is strange, deep and hoarse. I remember thinking "hey so he can talk" just before I start moving again. Thrashing out I manage to clip the guy holding me in the temple. Stunned, he falls back.

Fang grabs me and we instinctively spin back to back, staving off the whitecoats with any means we can, throwing nearby lab equipment and whatever else comes to hand. The fight, or chaos really, didn't last long. Genetically enhanced freaks that we were, we were still kids. Two really scared desperate, untrained kids. And they were eight fully grown men, trained to deal with mutant outbursts, mainly by injecting obnoxious amounts of drugs into flailing limbs. We went down, one after the other.

Fang was first. While he was busy whaling on the guy who had opened his cage, another one jabbed a needle into his neck. I heard the sounds of his fighting stop and turned to investigate. A needle must have found its way to me too, cause the last thing I remember is hitting the floor and feathers brushing against my right wing.

He'd been my right wing ever since. Had my back and I trusted him with that, I trusted him with everything. Sure I could have shared more responsibility with him, delegated a little, but hey I'm Max, trust and I have issues. And now he's gone. The jack ass left and now I'm one-winged and my back's wide open. Being a teenage mutant bird freak with a broken heart, sucks. Massively.


End file.
